


alley cat

by idolrapper



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Civilian Mark, Fluff and Crack, IT'S NOT ANGSTY AT ALL I PROMISE, Kidnapping, M/M, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Villain Haechan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-07 20:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idolrapper/pseuds/idolrapper
Summary: TALKING CANINES, WORLD DOMINATION AND THE NATION'S CUTEST VILLAIN, EXCLUSIVE STORY AT 9!





	alley cat

**Author's Note:**

> will mark ever get to work on time?
> 
> translations: [russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7246369).

On Monday, Mark gets kidnapped.

“Could you not bleed on my couch?” Donghyuck sighs. Mark knows his real name because Donghyuck gave it to him, right before he kidnapped him. “It’s Italian leather.”

“So? It’ll wipe right off,” Mark spits, tilting his head back momentarily to curb the flow, even though he chokes a little on the blood. His sweat-matted hair sticks uncomfortably to the headrest. “Fuck you.”

“All talk, no action,” Donghyuck drawls, sounding impatient. His radiant smile has progressively dimmed the more Mark stands his ground. Under his mask, his eyes look tired. “No talk, no action, no anything really, except bleeding all over my expensive couch. I worked hard to save up for that, you know?”

Yeah, if robbing a bank or whatever counts for hard work. “I don’t care,” Mark snaps, “Your henchman shouldn’t have punched me.”

“Jisung isn’t my _henchman_.” Mark gives him a look. “Okay, maybe he is but you were putting up a fight. I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. If you’d just talk—”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Never.” Donghyuck doesn’t even have him tied up. He could leave at any second, get up and knock the fucker out, and _leave_. He could. He could go up against Donghyuck’s sonic screaming and light manipulation and his henchman and that goddamn heat ray Mark can see in his periphery and alright, he doesn’t stand a chance but it’s not for lack of trying.

Donghyuck rises, so suddenly the movement makes Mark jolt and snort red onto his already stained work pants. “Okay,” he says, a slight slump in his shoulders. “Get up. I’ll take you home.”

“Work,” Mark automatically corrects. He stands up, with uncertainty. “Just like that?”

Donghyuck picks up the blindfold Mark had wrenched off and dropped to the cold concrete floor of Donghyuck’s lair an hour ago. He steps towards Mark, holding it out like a peace offering. “Just like that.”

 

 

Donghyuck’s driver, Chenle, drops Mark off outside N-Tech, after a thrilling one-sided conversation through the partition that got stuck halfway when Mark attempted to drown out Chenle’s voice.

“If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” Chenle asks.

“The ability to shut you up.” Mark rubs his temples, blinking continuously to get rid of the sun spots that appeared in his vision when he tore the blindfold off again.

“With all due respect, I’m sure you could do that anyway,” Chenle chirps. “Funny how you aren’t.”

“There’s nothing funny about not wanting to die,” Mark grits out. He squeezes his hand through the gap between the partition and the roof to smack the back of Chenle’s head. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chenle says. Mark can see him roll his eyes through the rear view mirror. “So, do you wanna know what my superpower would be?”

Mark doesn’t answer, save for a mumbled, “Take the next turn, it’s quicker.”

Chenle complies, and over the mechanical pulse of the indicator, he starts to rattle on, “Well, at first I wanted something like super strength or flight. You can’t go wrong with a classic, right? But then I thought, _Chenle, that’s not very original, you’re way cooler than Superman or whoever_. You following me back there?”

Mark tries to snort, but all he can manage is a weak _pop_ of leftover blood in his nose, and Chenle doesn’t get the message. He carries on talking and Mark makes an executive decision to sign up for the meditation class advertised on the poster that has been crushed under his cubicle frame for the past month. He needs it, desperately. 

“Great,” Chenle’s saying, “The question tormented for days, I couldn’t _sleep_. I went through so many ideas: the power to eat whatever I want and never become full. Duplication. Being able to bring people back from the dead. I even came up with a few names. Aquaboy, or,” Chenle swipes his palm across the air, “The Legend.” 

“Why do you need to come up with a superpower anyway?” Mark says, mostly to himself. He isn’t encouraging this conversation, he’s just curious. “Unless you find a vat of toxic waste lying around, it’s not like you’ll ever get one.”

“Self-actualisation,” Chenle replies, shrugging. He pulls up outside the N-Tech high-rise. “This is you.”

Mark trips out of the car, unintentionally bowing his head at Chenle before he slams the door shut. It isn’t until Chenle’s zooming through an orange light at the bustling intersection and Mark enters the revolving door of the building that he realises: 1) he left his briefcase in the backseat, and 2) Chenle never told him the superpower he’d decided on.

Mark plasters his cheek against the glass, arms loose, and groans. Going anti-clockwise, a harried businessman gives him an alarmed look and rushes out into the metropolitan smog. 

 

 

On Tuesday morning, Mark walks out of his bedroom, struggling with the knot in his sunflower yellow tie. His heart momentarily flat lines at the sound of Donghyuck’s voice.

“Good morning,” Donghyuck sing-songs. He’s sitting on one of Mark’s kitchen stools. Mark’s Wonder Woman mug is in his hands, and he takes a sip of the steaming tea. “Hey, what brand is this? It’s really good.”

Mark tries to keep his cool despite his surprise at Donghyuck turning up again after he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him. Then again, Donghyuck obviously doesn’t play by the rules. He’s evil.

“It’s from France,” Mark says candidly. No sudden movements. They’re more scared of you, than you are of them. He slowly backs towards the umbrella stand. “I can’t pronounce the name. The box is in the cupboard if you want to have a look.”

Donghyuck circles the kitchen counter and squats down, opening the cupboard. “You’re being awfully agreeable today. Good sleep?”

“Sure,” Mark says. His fingers curl around one of the umbrella handles, slotting into the grooves.

“You don’t want to try that, Mark,” Donghyuck says. He’s inspecting the box of tea, butchering the French on the label under his breath. “I’m just here to return your briefcase.”

“What?”

“It’s on the couch.” Donghyuck turns to smile at Mark and it’s so blinding Mark thinks he must be using his light manipulation on him.

Mark scowls, but steps away from the umbrella stand and makes his way to the couch where, indeed, his briefcase is.

When he picks it up and turns around to thank Donghyuck, the room is empty. The Wonder Woman mug is left on the counter, half-empty, and out of the corner of his eye, Mark sees a flash of black cape disappearing into the sunrise.

 

 

If Mark thought Donghyuck would leave him alone after that, he was sorely mistaken.

“Again?” he deadpans, a week later. He’s walking out of his apartment block, thinking about grabbing an iced Americano on his way to work, and a familiar Bentley is parked outside, the window rolled down and Donghyuck’s head poking out. 

“Hey!” Donghyuck says, giving Mark a short wave.

Mark feigns ignorance, pointing at himself. 

“Yes, you.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Hop in.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.” Donghyuck scoots over to the furthest end of the backseat.

Mark momentarily considers the success rate of him making a run for it (non-existent), takes a deep breath and opens the car door, sliding in next to Donghyuck. He places his briefcase in the middle seat in the hopes that it’ll ward off Donghyuck if he gets any funny ideas.

“Hi, Chenle,” he says, awkwardly. He can feel Donghyuck’s gaze burning into his skull, and has to catch himself from checking if his hair’s been set on fire.

“Hey,” Chenle replies, grinning at Mark through the rearview mirror. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

“Okay?” Mark’s eyes slide over to Donghyuck, who is still staring intently at him. 

Before he can open his mouth to make a snarky comment, Donghyuck says, “Your tie is lopsided again.” A smile plays on his mouth. “It’s a cute one today.”

“Wha—oh.” Mark glances down, fingers reaching up to wrangle his tie back into place. Today, he’s chosen a white one patterned with love hearts which he bought during a Valentine’s Day sale last year. He mumbles a _thanks_ , and turns to look out of the window, wondering if he's starting to suffer from a case of Stockholm syndrome or if Donghyuck has some other power he’s unaware of. 

Save for the low murmur of the radio, the car is silent for a good while until Donghyuck nudges Mark’s arm and softly calls out his name. 

“Yes?” Mark snaps. Donghyuck winces like he hadn't been expecting Mark to sound so sharp, and the slight pout of his bottom lip has Mark’s stomach flipping with guilt. Guilt? 

Donghyuck holds up a limp piece of fabric, looking sheepish. “I hate to do this again,” he says, “but precautions, y’know?” 

“You don’t trust me?” Mark ventures a joke, twisting his neck so Donghyuck can tie the blindfold around his eyes. “ _I’m_ the good guy.”

“Exactly.” Donghyuck’s voice is right next to Mark’s ear, and Mark startles, a shiver zapping down his spine.

“What would you do if I didn’t get into the car?” he deflects, shuffling away as far as he can.

Donghyuck doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, “I would let you go. And I’d try again tomorrow.”

Mark hums, trying to think of an acceptable reply that won’t make Donghyuck go find someone else to bother (there is a small part of him that, while not necessarily condoning Evil, craves the adrenaline rush he hasn’t had in three years of working the 9 to 5 grind) but is just stern enough to tell him that _no, like most people, he does not enjoy being held hostage and having his tardy record at work reach an all-time low_. 

He’s saved by Chenle pitching in with an enthusiastic, “Full Sun hyung is a really hard worker! He’s going to take over the world one day.”

“That’s nice,” Mark replies wearily. It really isn’t. He wants to stick his fingers in his ears and chant _la la la_ because what the _hell_ is he meant to do with this information? Go to the police? (Yes.) Is he technically aiding and abetting by _not_ having gone to the police yet? (Maybe.) Will he escape jail if he continues to refuse to give Donghyuck the information he wants, whatever that is? (This seems to be the best course of action.) 

Not only have Mark’s working hours taken a blow, so have his morals. He needs to stick to his guns. No more thinking about soft red hair, or eyes that light up when they look at Mark, or bronze ankles in tight pleather pants which seem like a totally impractical choice for a villain costume, no matter how stylish. No more!

It’s easier to tap into his other senses and pay attention to his surroundings when he’s not trying to deck his captor, or captor’s henchman, in the face. Mark can hear an echoing drip drop of water. The air is frigid. And the smell, wow, the _smell_. It smells like shit, literally. The sound of metallic doors clanging open, following a quick _ding_ , and the short descent into someplace a lot better smelling confirm Mark’s suspicions: they’re underground. The lair is hidden in somewhere along the city’s sewerage system, which _original_. If the blindfold wasn’t so tight, Mark would roll his eyes.

“Doesn’t it suck having your HQ somewhere so dark?” Mark mutters, in reference to Donghyuck’s power, when he feels Donghyuck’s fingers untying his blindfold.

“Yeah,” Donghyuck admits, with a laugh, “But we villains don’t have much choice.” A sphere of light expands in his palm. He throws it into the air and flicks it with his thumb and index finger so that it gradually illuminates the pad.

A guy is sitting on the couch, playing with a small Welsh Corgi. He has black hair and a thin, handsome face, and Mark is immediately put on edge.

“Oh, you’re home,” the guy says, cradling the dog against his chest. “Hi, Mark.”

“How do you know my name?” 

“He has to know your name,” Donghyuck cuts in, placing a hand on Mark’s upper arm. “Renjun is my sexy secretary. Those are the trend, you know.”

Renjun scoffs, “I’m just his secretary.”

Mark rubs the nape of his neck, the scowl sliding off his face. “Oh. Nice to meet you, Renjun.” 

Donghyuck sinks into one of the armchairs, clicking his tongue until the dog leaves Renjun and leaps onto Donghyuck’s lap. He pets her back in long, kneading strokes, and Mark has to suppress a laugh at the hackneyed image. “Renjun,” Donghyuck says, hand pausing, “can you take Perry for a walk?”

“I walked her an hour ago.”

There’s an awkward pause, and then, Donghyuck holds Perry up to shield half of his face, whining to Renjun, “Yeah, but, _you know_?”

“Ohhh, gotcha,” Renjun says, tone sarcastic. He stands up, calling for Perry and on his way out, he gives Mark’s shoulder a pat, grinning at him.

“What was that all about?” Mark asks blankly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Donghyuck says, waving his hand about. “Take a seat. Do you want anything? Juice? Coffee? Water? Soju?” 

“Nothing,” Mark mumbles, though he thinks Donghyuck might’ve been joking. He perches himself on the sofa, opposite Donghyuck. 

He was right. The blood did wipe right off.

“So, I was thinking,” Donghyuck starts. He’s not looking at Mark, but fumbling with something along the edge of the coffee table, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth. There’s a short beep—the glossy surface of the table lights up in what looks like a blueprint—and a triumphant _a ha, take that Renjun!_ from Donghyuck. “When I kindly asked you to lend me your knowledge and expertise—”

“—you held me hostage and threatened me for, and I quote, everything I know about voice boxes, which by the way, can be found in my publicly available PhD thesis—”

“—I left you a note telling you I’d be dropping by! It was scented and everything, just like Renjun told me superheroes do,” Donghyuck grumbles, a bratty glint in his eye, “Jisung must’ve left it with the junk mail. Damn him. Anyway, as I was saying, I never told you what I required that information for,” Donghyuck continues. He assumes a bright smile, and clicks another button. A hologram springs up from the coffee table: a 3D replica of Perry. He makes a flourishing movement with his hand, and announces, “My master plan.”

Mark lets his neck go slack. “A dog.”

“Yes, a dog,” Donghyuck repeats, nodding enthusiastically, “Many dogs, in fact. Cats too, once we advance.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch. “Explain.”

Donghyuck chuckles, a little nervously, and if it weren’t for the brim of the hat he’s wearing drooping over his forehead, Mark might’ve caught Donghyuck’s eyes skimming over his lazy slouch.

“Well, I could show you instead?” Donghyuck clears his throat, and says, smirking a little, “Perry, how are you today?”

Hologram-Perry replies with an excited bark, scraping her paws over the air. And then, startlingly, she opens her mouth again and says, in a feminine, pre-teen voice, “Not bad!” 

Mark tries not to let on how impressed he is by the prototype but Donghyuck only seems to be spurred on by his blank expression.

“Tell me who’s sitting on the couch,” Donghyuck tries, pointing his open hand in Mark’s direction.

Mark sits up slightly, curious. 

Hologram-Perry turns and looks right at him, her head tilted. She diligently recites, “Mark Lee, born August 2nd, N-Tech’s best sound engineer, super ho—”

“That’s enough, Perry,” Donghyuck blurts out, almost falling out of the armchair in his haste to press another button, which doesn’t seem to actually do anything until he commands, “Now, sing.”

Just like that, hologram-Perry bursts into song, some bubblegum pop tune that Mark recognises but doesn’t know the name of. The performance is beyond charming, and Mark can’t help the smile tugs his mouth wide. He makes a noise somewhat resembling a squeal. 

“So,” Donghyuck says, rising to his feet, “what do you think?”

“What are you going to do with it?” Mark asks. He fails to see what is so Evil about a talking dog (but everything Good about it) but then, his mind isn’t hardwired to think Evilly.

And when Donghyuck answers his question, he wonders whether Donghyuck’s is either:

“I’ll give every single dog a human voice. And then they’ll take over the world. It’s just, novel, don’t you think?” Donghyuck says, a dopey smile on his face.

“Very,” Mark says, sitting up and grabbing the blindfold from the coffee table. “But I’m still not helping you.”

Donghyuck clucks his tongue. “But you’re the man for the job. I can’t do it alone.”

It takes a lot of resolve for Mark to not give in. One more pout and he’s a broken man. “I don’t think I am, Donghyuck,” he says, holding the fabric up to his eyes. “You should find someone else.”

In a flash, there are another set of fingers helping Mark tie the blindfold behind his head. Donghyuck is barely audible when he murmurs, “You should be more confident,” but Mark hears it.

 

 

“What was the superpower you decided on?” is the first thing Mark says to Chenle when he fumbles his way into backseat, blind. 

He starts to untie the blindfold immediately. Donghyuck can't see him through the tinted windows, or at least, he hopes not. Whatever, he's not scared of Donghyuck. Donghyuck can move hideouts for all he cares, because as soon as Mark gets the chance he is _definitely_ going to do the right thing and— 

“Superpower?” Chenle repeats, over the growl of the engine he’d just turned on, interrupting Mark’s inner ramble, “Oh, that. I decided I don't want a superpower. I like myself the way I am.”

The blindfold drops into Mark’s lap, and his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh,” he huffs. That's anticlimactic. “That's nice.”

“Donghyuck hyung thinks so too,” Chenle says, “You know, he used to be really insecure about his powers, especially after—wait, I shouldn’t be telling you this.” He belatedly adds, “No offence.”

“None taken,” Mark says, shrugging. “So…?” he tacks on, hoping Chenle will take the bait and tell him the story, anyway, but Chenle’s already fast forwarded the topic.

“I don’t wanna take all the credit,” Chenle says, “but I think it really boosted Donghyuck’s confidence when I started leaving messages around the place. _Cheer up, sunshine!_ , _you’re the world’s #1 evil genius_ , _be yourself!_ , that kinda thing.”

“You care about him a lot, huh?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Chenle retorts, unfazed. Right, why wouldn’t he? Dumb question, Mark Lee. Barely a second later, Chenle asks, “Do you have a dream?”

“Um, this conversation is giving me whiplash.”

“Answer the question.”

Mark huffs, fiddling with the end of his tie. “Well, I want to be promoted this year, and I want to move back to Canada one day.”

Chenle blinks. “Donghyuck hyung doesn’t speak much English.”

“So?”

Chenle clears his throat. “Anything else?”

“I guess—lately, I’ve felt like I need direction. Like a huge project to work on and be passionate about? Rather than the odd jobs the company has me doing right now—”

“Mark,” Chenle cuts him off.

“Yeah?”

The car slows to a stop, and Chenle’s smirking at him in the rearview mirror. “We’re here,” he announces.

Mark gathers his things, the blindfold left on the seat, and leaves the car, feeling very confused.

 

 

Mark is barely sat at his desk five minutes when someone plonks themselves on top of Mark’s stack of Liszt compositions and drops a bright orange stress ball into his lap. Mark, dragging his eyes away from the computer screen at a sluggish pace, says, “What do you want, Jaemin?”

“Nothing,” Jaemin answers, his tone peppy. He doesn’t leave though. 

After several minutes and yet another failed attempt at opening a 1983 soundbite—he’ll have to take his fourth trip to the I.T department this week (for someone who works at a company with the word ‘Tech’ in the name, this is starting to become humiliating)—Mark repeats the question. 

Jaemin drops the facade then. Mark sighs in anticipation, his hand mindlessly squeezing the stress ball. He narrows his eyes and leans closer to Mark. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Yeah,” Mark says, “That you’re annoying and you’re distracting me.”

“You tell me that everyday,” Jaemin says, shrugging. “I’m being serious, hyung. You’ve been acting weird and distant. You’ve been late more in the past two weeks than you have in your entire time working here.”

“It was only two times,” Mark says, under his breath.

“Two times too many!” Jaemin exclaims, a little manically, his arms flailing. Eunji from the cubicle over shoots him an unamused look, and he shrinks back down, and whispers, “Look, _I_ don’t care if you’re late a few mornings, hell, I’m never here until half past ten. I just think you’re hiding something.”

“And what’s that?” Mark questions, leaning back in his chair. He hopes Jaemin won’t notice the ridiculous flush creeping up his collar. “Spit it out. I know you’re dying to tell me what conclusion you’ve come to.”

Jaemin splutters for a moment, and then he puffs up his chest and smugly declares, “You’re dating someone, Mark Lee.”

Mark’s mouth opens, then shuts. “Yup, that’s it. You caught me,” he mumbles, hunching over his desk again, and busying himself with the USB he’s going to take to I.T as soon as Jaemin leaves.

“Hm.” Jaemin’s eyes slit in suspicion. “That was too easy.”

“I’m easy,” Mark says, offering a shrug. He flips the USB the right way up when it doesn’t fit in the port the first time.

Jaemin’s shoes smack against the ground. He places a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Meet me downstairs at lunch. I want to hear aaaaall about them.”

“Why do you make everything sound like a threat, Jaemin?”

 

 

“I’ve been seeing a younger guy for about a week now,” Mark lies, swirling his galbitang with a spoon. 

“Younger, huh?” Jaemin says, a glint in his eyes. “Seems like you’ve been keeping up well, what with all the morning _escapades_. How risqué.”

“Oh, if only you knew,” Mark murmurs, coughing into a fist.

 

 

There are regrets—and then there’s leaving your umbrella at home and having to seek refuge from the rain under a cart dedicated to Full Sun merchandise while you wait for a bus back home. Mark scrolls through the newspaper app on his phone, dutifully ignoring the poster flapping next to his ear, and how it doesn’t do Donghyuck justice at all. The city has a soft spot for Donghyuck because he’s, there’s no other way to put it, adorable, but little do they know how true that actually is. 

Mark might’ve been thankful for Donghyuck rolling up in his Bentley and whisking him away, saving him from the rain and the ahjumma in the stand chewing his ear off about a 50% discount on second edition Elastiboy vs Full Sun comics, had it not been for the sizeable crowd that’d snapped photos of him being dragged into the car by a masked Jisung. He’s never going to hear the end of it. The mere thought of Jaemin alone ID’ing him makes Mark queasy. 

“It’s been a long day, Donghyuck,” Mark sighs, loosening his tie. “I don’t know what you want, but can we do this another time?”

“You complain about being late for work, so I twiddle my thumbs all day waiting for you and it’s _still_ not good enough?” Donghyuck whines.

“It’s like the weekend doesn’t exist,” Mark says under his breath. He’s squished up against the window, knees knocking against Jisung’s stiff and awkward frame with every turn Chenle takes. “No blindfold this time?”

“No blindfold,” Donghyuck affirms. Within five minutes, Chenle parks the car down a narrow alleyway—if it weren’t for the light streaming out of an open doorway at the very end and people sitting at tables weighed down by food and lined up along the outside wall, Mark might be a little freaked out.

Donghyuck claps his hands together, announcing, “We’re here.”

Scratch that. He’s a lot freaked out.

“What are we doing?” Mark asks. “This isn’t your lair. I know it isn’t.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t answer, stepping out of the car door. There’s a splash when his feet hit the ground and though Mark tries to stifle his laugh, Jisung doesn’t even bother. 

“Well,” Jisung snorts, “this dinner date is already off to a disastrous start.”

“What,” Mark exhales, at the same time Donghyuck turns to glower at Jisung.

Jisung drags his palm over Mark’s face, making a _whoosh_ sound as he does so. “There. Amnesia power.”

“Already forgotten,” Mark mutters, shaking his head. He exits the car as well, figuring that if he’s been taken here for something sinister he can always give running the old college try for once. “What are we really doing here?”

“Dinner, I swear!” exclaims Donghyuck. “I’ve made a lot of progress with the Plan so I thought we could celebrate. Plus I hypothetically might feel bad about inconveniencing you all the time. So, my treat.”

“I’m sure,” Mark says dryly, glancing down the alleyway at the restaurant. It’s started to rain again, gentle spit against the outdoor umbrellas over the tables. It looks warm inside. “Fine. Dinner it is. But if I suspect any funny business I’m going straight home.”

“I’m not giving you a ride,” comes Chenle’s voice.

“Wasn’t counting on it,” Mark tells him. Donghyuck has already shot Mark a thumb’s up over the car roof and started traipsing his way down to the restaurant, stepping gingerly over every puddle, and after a moment of Mark standing there watching him, he realises Jisung and Chenle have made no move to leave the car. He ducks his head down to ask, “Aren’t you both coming?”

“Like I said, hyung.” Jisung grins. “It’s a date.”

With that, Chenle starts to reverse, Jisung reaching over to shut Mark’s door. 

He has no choice but to follow Donghyuck into the thick and humid air of the Chinese diner. Inside is what one would expect of the Friday crowd. It’s disorderly and overcrowded, and Mark barely has any room to shrug his jacket off, ducking past a bamboo dim sum container here and a tray of beers there. Donghyuck is nowhere to be seen—until his head pokes through the circle window of the kitchen door and he waves at Mark. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his black mask and black cape and a weird feeling passes through Mark, like he wants to rush over and hide him, sneak him out the back and take him somewhere quieter. 

Full Sun is a household name. Full Sun is a _villain_. 

So why is no one scared?

Or more pressingly, why did Mark want to protect him?

Mark shakes his head, squeezing his way through the hotchpotch of tables to push through the kitchen doors, where the pandemonium almost rivals that of the restaurant. Donghyuck is sitting on a bench top, licking clean a wooden spoon as he chats to a woman—presumably the chef, judging from the way she pauses every two seconds to bark an order at a gangly teenage waiter or half-asleep cook, her hand on her hip as she stirs a big pot.

“Mark!” Donghyuck calls out, “Don’t be shy.”

“Donghyuck,” Mark sighs, taking a few reluctant steps forward, “Uh, should I be in here?”

“Of course.” Donghyuck waves his hand in dismissal. “Meet my aunt. Well, Renjun’s aunt, really, but we’re like family.”

Mark bows, introducing himself with a smile—his stomach growls halfway through, and Donghyuck’s, no, _Renjun’s_ aunt sits him down on a stool, shoving an overflowing plate in his hand. “No stomach goes empty in my kitchen,” she says, patting his cheek with an ease that suggests she does it often, stranger or not.

“Thank you,” Mark says, and then she leaves them. He hesitantly picks up his chopsticks with a glance Donghyuck’s way and digs in. Donghyuck, when he isn’t picking at a plate of fried dumplings next to him, chatters away about what he had for breakfast this morning, how there was a blackout in his district yesterday (“Wasn’t _my_ fault this time!”), an incident involving Elastiboy (better known as Nana), Hypebeast, and a bouncy castle—Mark is only half-listening. 

When Mark’s plate starts to clear, Donghyuck begins to shake his leg anxiously, knocking against the cupboard below him every so often. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he eventually blurts out. “I know this was out of the blue but I’ve noticed that you never have breakfast which is the most important meal of the day and I just figured you can’t help me very well if you aren’t staying healthy—”

“I thought this was a date?” Mark says, just to get Donghyuck to shut up. He arches an eyebrow, placing his empty plate on the benchtop. 

Donghyuck gulps. “Um. I mean, if you want it to be?”

“I think we’re at the you walk me home part of the date now, Donghyuck,” Mark says, turning away with a shrug. He’s being broken down, slowly but steadily, and another second of looking at Donghyuck’s cheeks poking out from beneath his mask might just make him give in.

“OK, I’ll call Lele,” is Donghyuck’s reply, smothered in an artificial brightness as he hops down from the counter and pulls out his phone.

Later, Mark stands at his fifth floor window, staring down at Donghyuck’s car parked outside his apartment for a solid thirty minutes before the engine starts up. He watches the car until it’s a black speck in the distance, and then nothing. 

 

 

The world blew up while Mark was having dinner with Donghyuck.

He changes into pyjamas, sinking into the sofa with a cup of tea, feeling full and satiated and more confused than ever. The TV turns onto the news: Elastiboy and Hypebeast, Seoul’s superhero duo, are doing a press conference. 

“We’ll do everything in our power to protect Mr. Lee,” Nana is saying, microphone pressed against his spandexed mouth. Mark feels a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. _No._

Hypebeast nods behind him. He takes the microphone to add onto to Nana’s comment when there’s a shout from the audience, a reporter standing on her tiptoes to be heard over the taller heads in front of her: “Why are you preventing Full Sun from finding love?” 

“Holy shit,” Mark breathes. Holy _shit_ , they’re talking about him? On national television. On… on… 

Nana clears his throat. “Until we find out the true nature of this relationship, we stand by our previous statement. Full Sun is a known villain and we’ll be dealing with this situation based on that fact. Thank you.” He turns to Hypebeast. 

“What he said,” Hypebeast says, taking out what seems to be a fidget spinner from somewhere in his skin-tight suit. The grin he sends the audience seems to placate them a little, and it quietens down. 

Until Nana says, “No further questions,” grabs Hypebeast’s wrist and leaves the podium, and the yelling starts up again. Someone is chanting _WE WANT MARKSUN_ and Mark is definitely going to pass out any second. He snatches the remote from the coffee table and switches off the television, the breath he was holding leaving his body as he does.

Oh God. He should talk to Donghyuck.

 

 

Mark hasn’t woken up with someone in his bed in over two years. So naturally when he feels someone lean over him, warm breath washing over his face as they say, “Rise and shine, Mark hyung,” he yells. Very loudly. 

“Ouch,” says the voice. Mark’s vision focuses on a Donghyuck kneeling in the centre of his bed, looking petulant as he rubs his ear. “I think you’re even louder than me, hyung.”

“Don’t call me hyung,” Mark blurts out.

Donghyuck stops, lunging forward to wriggle his fingers under Mark’s chin. “What would you prefer?” Donghyuck asks, “Dr. Lee? Sir? _Oppa_?”

“Shut the hell up,” Mark groans, rolling over to smother his face into his pillow, “Hyung’s fine.”

“Well, c’mon,” Donghyuck says, giving Mark’s butt a couple pats. “Let’s get going.”

Another scream is muffled by Mark’s pillow. “I’m never going to get to work on time.”

“Don’t be a grump,” Donghyuck chides, pushing himself off the bed and walking over to the closet. “Mind if I choose your tie today?”

Mark lifts his head up to stare at Donghyuck a moment, before flopping back down. “Ugh. Go ahead.”

Donghyuck tosses a tie patterned with penguins at Mark’s head, and when Mark finally gets up, he’s shoved into the bathroom and ordered to _hurry up, our breakfast is getting cold!_

By the time they reach Donghyuck’s lair, Renjun is heating up doenjang jjigae, and the smell is what lures Mark willingly inside. As he takes a seat on the couch, Renjun mumbles something to him in French.

“What,” Mark says to Renjun. 

“How do you take your tea?” Renjun repeats, in Korean this time. He smiles, taking out a tea bag from a box much like the one in Mark’s cupboard at home. 

“Two sugars, thanks,” Mark mumbles. He turns to Donghyuck, sitting quietly on a kitchen stool, to tell him, “Well, get on with it.”

“About yesterday—everyone knows who you are now,” Donghyuck says, wringing his hands. Nervously?

Mark stuffs a piece of tofu into his mouth when Renjun sets the bowl next to him and disappears into another part of the lair. “Mmm,” he says. 

“And they all think we’re dating,” Donghyuck continues slowly.

“Mm hmm,” Mark says, chewing on slice of meat. 

“How do you feel about that?”

Mark teases, “We were on a date, weren’t—”

“Mark!” Donghyuck exclaims. 

“Sorry,” Mark mutters, putting down his spoon. “I just—after I did some breathing exercises, I thought it over last night and I guess it’s okay? We can’t really stop the public from thinking we’re dating unless you like, staged a real kidnapping. I mean, they probably all think I’m evil now which isn’t _ideal_ but maybe I could use it to my advantage—”

“Wait!” Donghyuck interjects. “Repeat what you just said.”

“People think I’m evil?”

“No, before that.”

“S-stage a real kidnapping?” Mark picks up his mug of tea.

Donghyuck snaps his fingers, hopping down from the stool. His lips stretch into a wide smile. “Alright, now you’ve nearly finished your breakfast, let’s get down to business, shall we? Perry!”

“Uh, that’s not—great, she’s here.” Perry bounds into the room, beelining straight for Mark’s lap and causing him to spill boiling water on his penguin tie. “Thanks,” he mumbles, as Donghyuck laughs and tosses him the tissue box. 

They spend the rest of the hour talking about the Plan (mostly it’s Donghyuck rambling about his ideas and Mark hesitantly cutting in whenever Donghyuck says something that wouldn’t work, y’know, just as an expert) and when it comes time for Mark to drag himself to work, there’s a part of him—a very big part—that doesn’t want to leave. 

 

 

Mark is expecting Jaemin to be sitting on top of his desk, arms crossed but what he doesn’t expect is Jaemin lighting up as soon as he sees Mark enter and pulling out his chair for him. 

“So you like bad boys, _huh_?” Jaemin says, patting the seat for Mark to reluctantly sit down. 

“It’s not like that,” Mark says, logging into his computer. “And hey, aren’t you meant to be worried for me?”

“I am. Extremely worried. I couldn’t sleep a wink last night I was worrying that much,” Jaemin drawls, chin in his palm. 

“I really don’t understand why no one in this city seems to treat Do—Full Sun like a villain,” Mark comments. As he’d walked from Chenle’s car into the office building earlier, he felt people’s stares on him. Some were of awe, some of distaste, and Yukhei from HR had slapped him on the back in the elevator and told him, “I ship it! Elastibeast who?” before giving him a double thumbs up as he walked backwards onto the fifth floor. He’d said it in English, but Mark still has no clue what he was talking about.

“You’ve had first hand experience,” Jaemin says, legs kicking back and forth. “What do you think?”

Mark takes the bait. “He’s,” he pauses, already wincing in anticipation. “Cute, I guess.”

Jaemin arches an eyebrow.

“Sometimes when he laughs it literally sounds like _MUAHAHAHAHA_.” Mark bites his lip. “But that’s sort of cute too.”

“I think you’ve got it worse than Seoul, hyung,” Jaemin says, something playing at the ends of his mouth. Something knowing. When Mark doesn’t respond in favour of clearing out his spam mail, Jaemin places a hand on his shoulder and leans in, lowering his voice. “Do you really, truly like him?”

Mark closes his eyes, nose scrunching. “I—I don’t know. Maybe. It’s confusing. I _shouldn’t_.”

“Hey,” Jaemin says, squeezing Mark’s shoulder. “I’ll always protect you, hyung, you know that, right?”

Mark frowns. “Okay,” he says, “Thanks, Jaemin.”

Jaemin lowers his head in a flash to peck Mark’s cheek and then he leaves Mark to his work.

Later, when Mark goes to the foyer for his lunch break, he sees Jaemin at the entrance with a man Mark vaguely recognises. Their heads are close together as they speak. The other man then steps away to leave, but Jaemin’s arms stretch out to pull him back in by his lapels. He kisses him on the mouth. Oh. That must be Jeno, Jaemin’s boyfriend. That’s where Mark’s seen him, in the polaroids stuck to Jaemin’s cubicle.

He goes to lunch.

 

 

Mark wakes up in the middle of the night a week later, throat parched. He quietly pads out into the living area for a glass of water, only to find someone already there. A dark figure, curled up on his fur rug, chin resting on the coffee table and face tilted up towards the moonlight. Before Mark can scream or reach for his best weapon (still an umbrella, unfortunately), the person says, “Chill out, it’s just me,” and Mark would recognise that voice anywhere. 

“Donghyuck?” Mark hesitates, stepping forward. He isn’t wearing his costume _or_ his mask, dressed in a pair of drawstring shorts and a hoodie he’s drowning in. And Mark feels the air get knocked out of him the closer he gets, the prettier he realises Donghyuck’s face is. He’s practically seen every feature before—his heart-shaped mouth, the twinkle of his eyes, his pierced ears poking out from the sides of his mask—but to see him now, complete and bare, Mark is—uh— _wow_.

“You’re not gonna ask me what I’m doing here?” Donghyuck says, turning to look at Mark, cheek smooshed against his arm. Mark can’t drag his eyes away. 

“Are you okay?” Mark asks. Donghyuck doesn’t answer right away, so Mark goes over to the kitchen island to fill two glasses of water. He places one of them on the coffee table next to Donghyuck and settles on the couch in front of Donghyuck.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay?” Donghyuck sniffs. He sits up to take a sip from his glass.

“Well for one, you’re here,”—Mark gestures at Donghyuck’s appearance—“like this. At 2AM. So I’m just going to assume something’s wrong.”

“Like this?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow.

“I just mean like. Without your mask? But don’t worry. You look really good,” Mark rambles.

“I do?”

“I—” Mark stutters. He gulps down the rest of his water. “Better than I expected?” 

Donghyuck reaches out with his foot to kick Mark’s shin. “Shut up,” he says, covering his cheeks as they start to heat up. “I just wanted to see you.”

“That’s it?” asks Mark.

Donghyuck shakes his head. “I hit a slump with the Plan.”

“Do you need help with it?” Mark offers.

“Nah, it’ll be fine,” Donghyuck says. He looks up, eyes clear. There’s so much light in them. “Really though, your company would be nice.”

Mark stands up suddenly, clapping his hands together. “You up for a midnight snack?”

“Can you even cook?”

“Uh, technically speaking _no_ ,” Mark says, sheepishly. “How’d you even know that.” 

Donghyuck’s shoulder lifts up in a shrug. “Snooped in your fridge when I came over obviously. Don’t worry, hyung, I’ll whip something up for us.”

“Out of stale crackers and a single packet of ramen?” Mark scratches at his nape, trying to remember what else he has. 

“Yup!”

Donghyuck somehow does cook them a meal. They turn on the radio to the channel playing Saturday night EDM, dim the lights and Donghyuck drags Mark to dance with him around the kitchen as a pot of ramen boils on the stove. Donghyuck carries the bowls and chopsticks, and Mark uses the oven mitts Jaemin gave him for Christmas (for the first time) to take the pot over to the coffee table. They curl up on either end of the sofa and eat in silence, the slurp of noodles and the gentle acoustic from the radio the only sounds in the apartment. 

When Mark is done, he looks over at Donghyuck, a question playing on his tongue. It has been for a while. His heart thuds unevenly in his chest as he says, “Why did you become a villain, Donghyuck?”

There’s a low laugh from Donghyuck. “I was born with my powers,” he starts to explain, placing his empty bowl on the table. “The light manipulation came in when I was thirteen though. That’s when my parents died.”

Mark winces. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Hyuck.”

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck says, giving Mark a tight smile. His socked feet are touching Mark, and Mark pulls them into his lap, kneading his thumbs into the sole of one of them like he used to do for his mother, and then his ex. “They were superheroes. Died in battle.”

“And you?” Mark asks.

“Did I die in battle?”

“That’s not what I—”

“I know,” Donghyuck says, tone cheeky. “Why’d I become a villain when my parents were good? I just thought it would be fun. My foster brother, Jaehy—I mean, The Jet—is tearing it up in Chicago, and he told me, ‘Donghyuck-ah, every city needs a villain’ and Seoul had a vacancy, so.” He shrugs.

“So basically you’re not actually evil,” Mark points out.

“I’m evil, I’m really evil,” Donghyuck retorts, swinging his legs off Mark. “In fact I can show you how evil I am.” He gets up, sliding across the tiles to Mark's bedroom, yelling, “I’m stealing your bed and you can take the couch!”

Mark chases after him, laughing as Donghyuck belly flops onto his bed. He grabs Donghyuck’s feet, dragging him towards him so he can dig his fingers into Donghyuck’s abdomen, tickling him until Donghyuck wheezes, “Stop, _stop_! I’m sorry!” 

Mark lets up, dropping onto the mattress next to Donghyuck. They lay there for a moment, catching their breath, and then Mark rolls over to face Donghyuck. “Do you really want to sleep here?”

“If you don’t mind,” Donghyuck says, pinching the space between his eyebrows. “Chenle’s probably fast asleep, and the subway isn’t running but I could probably catch a night bus close enou—”

“Nonsense,” Mark interrupts him. “You’ll stay here. I can take the couch.” He gets up with the intention of finding extra blankets, when Donghyuck grabs his hand. He turns back, and Donghyuck’s eyes are dark.

“We could share,” Donghyuck says, voice low.

Mark feels his neck start to heat up. “I-I don’t think—”

Donghyuck lets go of Mark’s hand, sprawling out against the pillows. His shorts ride up his thighs, and Mark’s mouth goes dry. “What’s the big deal, hyung?” he says. He pats the space next to him. He blinks with purpose and the lights shut off. “I wouldn’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”

Mark feels himself being reeled in, like a magnet. “You’re right, but—”

Donghyuck shushes him. “No buts, just get in.”

Mark complies, lifting the other side of the quilt to slide in next to Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck lays on his side, hands tucked under his cheek. He yawns and then smiles at Mark, sweet and sleepy. “We should brush our teeth,” he says.

“We should,” Mark agrees.

“But I can’t be bothered, I’m too tired.”

“Same.”

“Let’s sleep then, hyung,” Donghyuck tells him, dragging an arm out to throw it over Mark’s waist.

“Brat,” Mark tuts, a tad too fondly. “Can I ask you something first?”

Donghyuck hums, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Do you have a day job?”

Donghyuck grins as though the question pleases him, eyes still closed. “Nah, I don’t need one. Superheroes are loaded, remember? The rents left me with a _noice_ little trust fund.”

“Congrats,” Mark says, laughing a little. “Goodnight, Donghyuck.”

“Night, hyung,” Donghyuck whispers, “Thank you for letting me stay.”

Sleep takes over. At some point, Mark wakes up, hand reaching out to feel for Donghyuck. He doesn’t have to try very hard. Donghyuck has wrapped himself around Mark like a vine, their legs tangled. He’s warm and solid beneath Mark’s palm as he strokes his arm. His breathing is steady, and the moonlight lights up his face, his long eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks. His mouth is set in a pout, bottom lip a little wet with drool. Mark doesn’t know how long he lays there, staring at Donghyuck’s face, wishing he could reach down and kiss him, but eventually he blacks out and when he wakes up again, the other side of the bed is empty. 

But Mark can still smell Donghyuck on his sheets, and when he finally gets up, he finds the torn-up wrapper of a new toothbrush in the bathroom bin, and the dishes they’d eaten from last night washed and left to dry. 

Laid over his desk chair, is a tie, blush pink with red polka dots. 

 

 

The day begins like any other. Just a harmless Monday, where Mark gets to work without being kidnapped _and_ makes it to lunch not having gone to I.T once. Jaemin is nowhere to be found and he isn’t answering his texts so Mark goes down to the foyer alone, considering checking out a new cafe that’d opened a couple streets down. 

He’s passing a Gangnam Station exit when it happens: 

There’s an animalistic growl in the distance, loud enough that it’s heard by everyone in the vicinity. Someone yells, “Look up! Nana and HB are fighting Full Sun!” Mark’s head jerks up from his phone. It’s true. On one rooftop, Nana is standing next to Hypebeast, who has taken the form of a lion. On a building on the other side of the road, is Donghyuck, cape billowing in the wind and his hair in flames all around him. 

Donghyuck looks down. For just a second, Mark swears they make eye contact. 

And then he’s no longer on his feet, on solid ground. Mark hears a woman shout, “Wait, is that Mark?!” before all that enters his ears is the sound of the air whipping around him. A warm arm is wrapped around Mark’s waist, keeping him stable as they soar through the sky. Mark opens his eyes to Donghyuck smiling at him. Mark glances down, past the jets attached to Donghyuck’s feet, to Gangnam below, growing smaller and smaller. He jolts against Donghyuck, mouth letting out a stream of expletives in English, until he starts to feel dizzy. “You’re fucking insane, Donghyuck!” Mark yells, smacking Donghyuck’s chest, before his throat finally gives out.

“That’s mean.” Donghyuck pouts. He directs them to the top of a skyscraper, setting Mark down and then grabbing him again when his legs turn to jelly and he almost topples over the edge. 

“What are you doing?” Mark wheezes, trying to clutch fistfuls of Donghyuck’s stupidly tight costume. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s breathing heavily through his mouth.

Donghyuck braces one hand on the metal next to them, the thumb of his other hand hooked in Mark’s belt loop. “The kidnapping,” he explains, “It was _your_ suggestion.”

“Shut up, shut _up_ ,” Mark bursts out. He tries to focus on the black of his eyelids and nothing else. “I didn’t mean like _this_. I’m scared, Donghyuck.”

“Alright,” Donghyuck says gently, “I’m so sorry. Please look at me, hyung.” He lets go of the wall to cup a palm around Mark’s cheek. “I’ll never let you get hurt, I promise. _Please_ open your eyes.”

And Mark does, immediately tightening his hold around Donghyuck.

“This was meant to be a kidnapping,” Donghyuck explains, fingers stroking Mark’s cheekbone. “So that the city doesn’t think we’re dating. So that they don’t think you’re evil. But now that you’re here with me, in front of the whole world, I—I want to be selfish.”

“What do you mean?” Mark whispers. 

“I _want_ them to think those things,” Donghyuck says. His eyes are cloudy.

Their mouths are barely millimetres apart. Mark can taste Donghyuck’s breath on his tongue as he speaks. And nothing else matters, the fear of falling to his death overwhelms his fear of Donghyuck, of Seoul, and he closes the distance, pressing his lips against Donghyuck’s. 

For what feels like hours, they kiss. Mark’s hands migrate to Donghyuck’s waist, Donghyuck’s mask digging into his cheeks, and somewhere in amidst it all, Donghyuck’s mouth falls open in a moan and he fumbles backwards. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Donghyuck hisses, when Mark’s reflexes pull him back, his heart racing faster than he thinks is possible. “Shit. Next time we’re making out on fucking grass.”

Mark nods, his throat dry and lips bitten red. “Can we—can we get down now?” he squeaks. 

Donghyuck straightens. He looks out to the horizon for a moment as though searching for something and then turns back to Mark. “Hyung,” he starts, grabbing Mark’s shoulders. “Do you trust me?”

Mark opens his mouth, then shuts it. What answer is he meant to give Donghyuck in this moment? “Yes? Wait, n—”

“Good,” Donghyuck says, leaning forward to kiss Mark full on the mouth again before his elbows rear back and he pushes Mark off the skyscraper—

—right onto Elastiboy’s back. 

His arm is stretched out for metres, wrapped around a pole on the roof of another building and they swing towards it. Hypebeast is flying next to them as a falcon. Mark twists back to see Donghyuck watching him, before he flies away, feet leaving a trail of smoke behind him.

“Stop that,” Nana snaps, “We’re going to fall if you keep squirming like that.”

“Sorry,” Mark mutters. Nana pulls them onto the roof and places Mark down. Hypebeast transforms back into his human form, feet stumbling on the concrete with the velocity. Mark plonks down against the wall, taking a deep breath. “Why’d he do that? Did he know you were going to catch me?”

“Yes, we had an agreement,” Elastiboy says. His eyes are looking anywhere but Mark, staring at an air-conditioning unit to the side even as he tells Mark how Full Sun had approached them to choreograph the fight. Like he doesn’t want Mark to see his face. 

Mark stands up, stepping closer to Nana. “Look at me,” he says. Nana turns to him, a sheepish smile on his face. “ _Jaemin_?!”

“You caught me,” Jaemin giggles. Hypebeast edges forward, a hand on Jaemin’s lower back. “And this is Jeno, my boyfriend.”

“Sup,” Jeno says, shooting Mark that infamous smile. Mark’s heart calms down a bit, but still.

“Can’t I catch a break?” Mark sniffs, “No offence, Jeno, it’s nice to meet you but holy shit, I might be in love with a villain and my best friend is said villain’s archenemy.”

Jeno and Jaemin laugh. “Archenemy _and_ good friend,” Jaemin says, “Us three have known each other since high school. Powered kids gotta stick together.”

“What,” Mark says weakly.

“Donghyuck’s had a crush on you ever since he saw pictures of you at Jaemin’s housewarming on my Insta story,” Jeno says, hooking his chin on Jaemin’s shoulder. Mark must’ve looked visibly confused because Jeno explains, “Jaemin dared me to go as his dog, that’s why we’ve never officially met. But yeah, Hyuck practically begged us to let him seduce you.”

“The betrayal,” Mark says under his breath.

“Well, it worked,” Jeno smirks. Mark can already see why he and Jaemin are dating.

“What about the press conference?” Mark asks Jaemin.

“Oh, that. I’m required to say that stuff to the press. Donghyuck’s hardly a villain and we all know it,” Jaemin says. The grumbling of Mark’s stomach interrupts him. He hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning ‘cause he usually has it with Donghyuck. “C’mon, I’ll take you down to lunch. We can meet you at that cafe in ten? Or maybe we should go somewhere more private. Everyone’s gonna be on the lookout for you now.” 

Mark huffs. “Okay, but this conversation isn’t over.”

“Of course, hyung,” Jaemin drawls. He wraps an arm around Mark’s waist, his other arm looped around the same pole as earlier, and they slowly lower to the pavement. Jeno flies after them. Mark shuts his eyes, ignoring the office workers wide-eyed and plastering themselves against the windows to watch them. 

Jaemin is about to catapult himself up when Mark says, “Wait. Your last name is Na.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty daft,” Jaemin laughs.

“Isn’t that a little _too_ obvious?”

Jaemin shrugs. “No one’s figured it out yet.” And then he’s gone, Jeno whizzing up after him with a _catch ya later, bro!_

 

 

“So that time you bailed out of a 9AM meeting because of an emergency and I had to replace you, you were doing superhero stuff?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin says through a mouthful of bread, “Did you think I was joking about a freeze ray?”

Mark gives him a pointed look.

They’ve taken refuge in the tenth floor kitchenette of N-Tech, munching down on the banh mi that Jeno brings for them because when Mark had tried to enter the cafe, he was met with at least ten phone cameras pointed his way.

“What about that time you showed up at noon and made me give you my spare shirt ‘cause yours was all ripped? Your chest was banged up, dude,” Mark says. “Thought you were mauled by an animal.”

“Um,” Jaemin says, having the decency to blush as he turns to Jeno.

Jeno raises his hand. “The animal might’ve been me.”

“Aw, _gross_ ,” Mark says, stuffing the rest of his banh mi into his mouth.

 

 

By Friday, there’s still been no word from Donghyuck and Mark is _this_ close to just sucking up his pride and asking Jaemin or Jeno for Donghyuck’s number (hell, Mark is willing to even create an Instagram account if it means talking to Donghyuck again.)

He’s getting ready for work, a piece of toast in between his teeth as he picks out a tie—plain, bright orange today—when the doorbell rings. Mark trips into the hallway, tossing the toast into the kitchen and opening the door without even checking the eyehole. The corridor is empty, and Mark goes to shut the door, brows furrowed in confusion, but he’s stopped by the sound of a bark near his feet.

Mark glances down to see Perry sitting there obediently, tail wagging. She has a thick pink collar on, a small grey box affixed to the side. She opens her mouth and Mark expects another bark, but she’s saying, “Good morning, Mark!” and Mark feels so woozy.

“Y-you speak,” he says.

“Yes!” Perry exclaims, looping around Mark’s ankles in excitement. “I can speak now! My barks can be translated into at least fifty different languages.”

“Wow,” Mark breathes, “I’m having a conversation with a dog. And I don’t even think this is the craziest thing that’s happened to me this week.” He reaches down to pick Perry up. “Why are you here, anyway?” he asks, stroking her chin.

“I came to ask if you’d like to go on a date with my master,” Perry says, with a pleased little sniffle.

“Your master?” Mark steps out into the corridor, just as another person tries to walk in, and they knock into each other.

“That wasn’t as smooth as I was hoping it would be,” Donghyuck grumbles, rubbing his jaw. “Do you always have to be so clumsy?”

Mark doesn’t even reply, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of Donghyuck. His mask has been pushed up over his forehead causing his red hair to stick up in every which way. “Cute,” Mark blurts out.

“What?” Donghyuck blinks.

Mark clears his throat. “You finished the Plan.” He sets Perry down as she starts to paw impatiently at his shirt.

Donghyuck grins. “I did. Are you proud of me?”

“Yeah, but,” Mark says, “Didn’t you need my help?” Aside from a few comments here and there, Mark had steadfastly refused to contribute, and even when Donghyuck had finally broken him down, he’d stopped asking Mark for help anyway.

Donghyuck shuts the door behind him. Perry rushes off into the apartment, giggling. The sound is so odd, but Mark ignores it, focusing on Donghyuck. “Well, you see,” Donghyuck says, itching his neck. “Remember how you left your briefcase in the Bentley?”

“Yes…” Mark says, already predicting where this is going. He feels a groan building up in his stomach.

“I got all the information I needed from there,” Donghyuck tells him, mouth set in an awkward smile.

“So you’re telling all those times I was late for work were for nothing?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck admits.

“So I was kidnapped for nothing,” Mark says.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it _kidnapping_ , per se—”

Mark steps towards Donghyuck. Donghyuck’s back hits the door, and a shaky breath leaves his mouth. “So you did it because you like me and you wanted me all to yourself.”

Donghyuck scoffs, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Ding ding ding,” he says.

“I wouldn’t call that very romantic, Donghyuck,” Mark tells him, palms on either side of Donghyuck’s head. He sweeps Donghyuck’s mask all the way off, dropping it to the ground. 

“You’re boring,” Donghyuck says, his eyes on Mark’s mouth. “I’ll have you know that danger is _very_ sexy—mmfff.”

Mark leans down to kiss Donghyuck, tongue licking against the seam of his mouth. His palm fits around Donghyuck’s thigh, pulling him closer so that their bodies are flush and it isn’t until Perry yelps from the end of the hallway, “What are you doing, master?” that they pull apart. 

“Nothing, Perry,” Donghyuck croaks, fingers curled around Mark’s upper arms. “Run along now.” 

“I have to go to work,” Mark says, pressing his forehead against Donghyuck’s, admiring the way his cheeks glow pink.

“You can’t go to work with your tie all wrong,” Donghyuck comments, unlooping Mark’s tie and redoing it deftly. He pats Mark’s chest when he’s done. “There.”

“Thank you,” Mark says, pecking Donghyuck again. “And about that date?”

Donghyuck sticks his tongue between his teeth. “I’ll pick you up.”

“You’re not going to tell me when?” Mark says. He pauses. “Or where?”

“Where’s the fun in that, hyung? You’re dating a villain now. No take backs.”

“Don’t remind me,” Mark says, grinning. He backs away, only to have Donghyuck tug him back in again.

“I still don’t think you can go to work,” Donghyuck says, mouth sly. His eyes are lowered, and Mark follows his gaze to see his fly undone, belt barely buckled. Oh. “But I don’t feel like fixing it.” He leans in to press his smirk against Mark’s lips, pushing him further into the apartment. 

And Mark is late to work again. 

 

 

(Jeno slaps a new edition Elastiboy vs Full Sun comic on Mark’s coffee table when he finally turns up to dinner. Mark and Donghyuck are cuddling on the couch, and Jaemin had been in the kitchen, cross-legged in front of the oven, watching his chocolate cake rise. He comes over now to greet Jeno, attaching to him like a koala and kissing his neck.

“Who’s that?” Jeno asks, flipping the page open to an imagined version of Donghyuck’s lair (it’s pretty much exactly the same. Villains aren’t very original.) Jeno points to a drawing of Renjun: a scowl on his face as he headlocks Jisung. 

Comic books have started incorporating Mark as Donghyuck’s love interest and while it’s flattering, it mostly makes Mark want to sink into the Earth and never return. But Donghyuck collects them all, displaying them in a glass cabinet after he reads them aloud to Mark. His enthusiasm is just a little adorable, even when he’s whining about how much his characterisation sucks.

“That’s my sexy secretary, Renjun,” Donghyuck tells Jeno. 

Jaemin lets go of Jeno to take a closer look at the comic. He and Jeno share a look.

“Ohhhh no,” Donghyuck starts, sitting up. “I pay him well and he’s the best I could find so don’t even _think_ about turning him good. Go get your own,” he protests, to no avail.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! [twitter](https://twitter.com/nohyuck) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/millennium) ♡


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